The Boss and the Revolution of the Mind
by caeciliusestinhorto
Summary: Something of an alternative universe to the Deathly hallows epilogue. Hermione and Harry have gone dark, but a new power is rising. Who will survive the revolution? Who will lose their mind? Frankly, I wouldn't bother with it and I wrote it, but maybe somebody will like it, so I'm leaving it up.
1. Act I -Chapter I

As much as I'd love it, the HP sandbox does not belong to me. I just hope that the rights owners to not take umbrage at my playing in it- I promise I wont make a mess, or money, or anything else good from this. Honest.

Rossini echoed through the corridors of the great house as the girl stalked through it. Velvet drapes hung by the windows and dust which had lain undisturbed for decades was flung into the air by the currents of air created as she passed. The music was getting louder, louder, ever louder. Then suddenly, nothing. It stopped. Her heart was pounding in her chest – she knew she shouldn't have come here. He'd told her it was a bad idea, the house - more a palace really – was a death trap inhabited by the craziest pureblood alive. Too pure to follow Voldemort. Too pure to talk to anyone, save his one house-elf. Too pure to come to Hogwarts.

The music started up again, not Rossini anymore. A powerful piece, its melancholy tones filling the whole house once more. It was quieter though, and somehow tinged with sadness. The girl had by now come to the end of the corridor. The music, reaching a gentle crescendo, was coming through the giant double doors mounted ahead of her. The oak of the doors had blackened with age, and the brass hinges were covered with the patina of antiquity. Despite this, they reminded her of the double doors to the great hall of that castle she had loved long ago, elegantly carved and vast.

Well, she'd reached her target; the last of the untainted purebloods. It was time for him to be brought under her Boss's heel. Casting silencing charms around those ancient hinges, she pushed the doors open. Miraculously they moved without the slightest effort, swinging open to reveal a well-lit room. Whereas elsewhere then house had been thick with the dust of the centuries, in this room it was, if a little grubby, then at least relatively clean. The fire in the massive hearth occupied one wall, giving out heat to warm the rest of the room. Oil paintings of purebloods long dead adorned the walls, and dangling from the ceiling were a set of chandeliers, the largest she'd ever seen, and beneath the furthest, hunched over a desk was her target. He was sitting there; fountain pen scratching away on paper like there was no tomorrow. For him, she reflected, there likely wouldn't be. Ever well trained she approached, silently, deadly and with but a single purpose. When she was ten yards away from him he turned.

"I've been expecting you for a while Miss Granger," he said, "I hope you are well."

"As well as can be expected, which is more than can be said for you, it would seem."

At this the man's eyes seem to sparkle, with a glimmer of mischief in them. Did he think he could escape from this scot-free? It seemed implausible to Hermione, the greatest of all the Boss's angels of retribution but still, no-one had looked at her whilst on a mission without turning into a gibbering wreck for many years, and this unsettled Hermione. That he knew who she was unsettled her still further, no-one was supposed to be able see under this hood.

"So, how can I help you Miss Granger? I assume you're not here for a social call." He spoke again, breaking Hermione's train of thought. Time to get back to the job in hand.

"Ah, yes, well the Boss sent me. He wants all the wizard kind to be under him, whether as sub-ordinates or corpses is little of his concern."

"So, then, you mean to try and recruit me?" The man spoke again, seemingly unperturbed by news of his doom.

"Not exactly."

"Ah, I see." He said, his eyes twinkling."Well, I'm not really all that supportive of that plan, don't you see, so I was wondering whether I might suggest something else."

"It won't work, the Boss sent me to kill you, and it'd take extraordinarily unusual circumstances for me not to do so."

"Yes, I had rather heard that you enjoyed removing certain undesirable elements from society. Do you mind awfully if I change the record?" he said. This non-sequitur surprised Hermione-it had been so long since anyone had met death at her hands with even the slightest scrap of dignity left.

"Go ahead."

"Well, since you are a guest, I'll give you veto on this one, Elgar alright with you?"

"It will do." Elgar, what sort of pureblood listened to Elgar? She wondered, as the strains of the Salut d'Amour began to drift through the room, her target started to conduct an invisible orchestra. This was beginning to become ridiculous. She turned, raised her wand and wordlessly cast a spell. A bolt of deadly green light flew across the room and the beginnings of a smile began to creep across Hermione's face at the thought of nearly accomplishing her mission when suddenly all sign of happiness was swept from her face. Her spell had missed. Not in the couple of degrees to the left kind of way either, that was bound to happen eventually, but in the bounced of a shield kind of way. That spell was supposed to be unblockable and this daft bigot had just reflected it into the ground, as if it was a mere tickling charm.

Elgar changed into Walton, and then the duel began, she, throwing everything she could at him, he sending each successive spell bouncing off onto the floor, walls or even the ceiling. Still, he stood there without a wand waving his arms like a conductor set to fast forward. He was yet to send a single spell back at her though, now that was odd.

"My dear girl, don't you think this game is becoming a trifle dull?" He asked after about ten minutes of this farce. Her face was like thunder but at those words she disapparated, never to be seen again.

Or so he thought. Just as he was sitting down at his desk to resume his work, he heard a familiar 'crack' behind him – just the elf, he thought. Then a stunner hit him in the back and he remembered no more.


	2. Act I -Chapter 2

Since that fateful day, when the Weasley family had been wiped out by a couple of uncaptured death eaters neither Harry nor Hermione had been the same. They had both been hurt by the loss of those they had loved. They both became highly driven. Hermione, she focused on finding her parents, and then, perhaps, restoring their memories. Harry, he didn't. Hermione went off to Australia and, whilst upset, did her level best to stay in touch with her few remaining friends. Harry, he didn't. When she found that her parents had died in a road traffic accident, her friends set her their condolences. Harry, he didn't.

Still, Hermione was not angry at her best friend. Harry was, she thought, finding it hard to get over the loss of Ginny, just as she was Ron. She was right, as usual, when it came to the cause of Harry's withdrawal from the world, but no-one could have guessed its consequences.

When, nine months later a masked wizard identifying himself only as 'The Boss' started to terrorise wizarding society, no-one associated it with Harry. Not even the young Potter himself. For him the weak boy who had been powerless to prevent the deaths of those he loved was dead and in his place had been born 'The Boss', the most fearful being ever to declare a personal war against the Ministry of Magic.

It had been on a dark, damp December day, when Hermione had returned to London. Taking shelter in a BT Phone box against the rain, she saw a man in black robes wandering through the street. He was wearing a mask and carrying a wand and more to the point he was a wizard, strolling through the middle of muggle London as if the statute of secrecy was a mere polite notice. She stepped out of the box- it was leaking anyway, into the heavy drizzle that can only really be found in England and darted after the man.

"Hermione!" he seemed nervous and whoever he was, he knew who she was, "how are you?" and grabbing onto her wrist he apparated the pair of them away, into the darkness of his new home.

She screamed and kicked, but to no avail, his sinewy strength was too much for her. Throwing her down on a bed, he stripped off his mask.

"Harry! What on earth were you doing in muggle London dressed like that? Why are you dressed like that? And what do you... That wasn't funny!" Hermione practically yelled at him. In return he merely smiled. After a long period of silence, he began to speak again.

"Hermione, don't you ever wonder why they died? Your parents? The Weasleys? Everyone we have ever cared for has died, because the ministry hasn't done anything about it. They're weak and not because they are powerless, but because they are without moral courage. That's why I'm dressed like this. I am the Boss, and I will change this world."

The frankness in his voice scared Hermione- but she wasn't about to lose Harry, not now, not ever.

"Harry," a timid voice finally replied, "no-one know it's you, don't you think.."

"No, Hermione, Harry is dead, and that is the last time I will overlook that slip, you call me Boss, or you don't call me anything at all. Is that clear? Good, because I'm not going to stop this. Not until they've been destroyed and the world is safe from the power of those prejudiced bastards."

"The purebloods, har..Boss?"

"Yes Hermione, the purebloods," he spat, "they shall all be destroyed, unless they submit."

"I'll help you" she had said. Then the fate of the world was sealed.

Three years after that, the purebloods had disappeared as a power block, except for those who were in the pocket of the Boss. The Goyle family had been the first to go. The police found them, their heads mounted on spikes hanging from Tower Bridge, but they were mystified as to how they had gotten there. Magical law-enforcement couldn't make any sense of it either, nor could anyone find the bodies, but no-one was too upset. The Goyle family had been the first of many, but the pureblood resistance soon broke down after Draco Malfoy had begged the Boss for forgiveness. Forgiveness was received, although that was not enough to save Draco's parents from the wrath of the Boss or his angels of retribution. The young Malfoy had gone on, after a seemingly miraculous escape from certain death, to become a remarkably able politician, even if he was in thrall to the Boss. But enough lingering in the past.

Hermione descended the stairs leading to the Boss' gaol. No, no, no, aha! Here was the one she had captured last night, sprawled out in a corner of the cell, exactly where she'd dumped him last night. The damp and mould of his new location made a stark contrast to the luxurious home he'd been in just the day before. She unlocked the door and slid inside the cell. He didn't move. A well aimed kick did nothing either, he must be truly out cold, no-one can act that well. A simple enervation charm and his eyelids fluttered open.

"Ahh, Ms Granger, a pleasure as always," he croakily drawled, "I was wondering what had hit me, it isn't often someone gets one over on me. None of Lord Voldemort's crew ever did, I'm sure, nor did the old bugger himself."

"I am afraid you seem to have the better of me here- I may have knocked you out, but I still have no idea as to who you actually are."

"Of course, how rude of me, I assumed that since you were infiltrating my home, you'd know who I was, but apparently not." He seemed a little disappointed at this, "I, Miss Granger, am Henry, Earl Winterslow, I also hold the lesser title of Baron Loddon and since the untimely death of Frederick the deranged in 1427, my family has been the only wizarding family in England to have any titles associated with it."

"So, you're a wastrel, who does nothing but think of which pureblood to marry, then?"

"Not exactly, I fill most of my time trying to quantify magic in some way, analysing the interaction of the magical field with matter, and how spells can be created. What a muggle-born such as yourself might look upon as applying physics to magic."


	3. Act I -Chapter 3

Hermione was annoyed as she left the peer sitting in his gloomy gaol cell. Returning to the Boss' palace, she hoped for another mission. One to dispose of the impure or those whose opposition to the Boss was intractable. She was soon granted her wish. That annoying Dennis Creevey had been setting up a resistance, encouraging people in the name of Harry Potter to resist the Boss. A fool he was and a fool he had remained, and now he was going to pay the price.

Hermione adjusted her mask into place, under her hood and left the hall soon after receiving her orders dressed as the leader of the angels of retribution. She had had a tough day, first of all she had failed to kill Henry, 9th Earl Whatsit, Baron Doodah and even her close friendship and status as second in command had not preserved her from the wrath of the Boss. Then Henry had failed to give her an excuse to take out her ire on him- he had not been supercilious at all, but aggravatingly polite. But now, now she had a mission which she could really enjoy. Finally, the guts of Creevey would spill. But not until she'd had her fun, oh no, not until then.

She apparated a mile away from the House in the suburbs where Creevey was living and a short walk saw her arrive at his 4-bedroom semi, where she let herself in. Alohomora really was a useful spell, she thought. She crept upstairs and cast a silencing charm around the house- it wouldn't do to wake the neighbours after all.

Dennis saw nothing until the shadow had entered his room. Nothing until it was too late. The angel of retribution saw to that. As much as she embraced the magical world, some things were more fun to do the muggle way and torture was one of them. No quick cruciatus curse for her victims, pain was something to be enjoyed and savoured. A quick body-bind curse and Dennis couldn't do anything. The covers flew off the bed, and his clothes melted away, so much the better for seeing and reaching the weak flesh that Creevey called his body. She began at the top, humiliation came before physical pain and hacking his hair off was a good way to do that. Now she paid attention to the other end, his feet. Toenails were a good way to start- hardly necessary, so it didn't deprive the victim of hope and she didn't want to do that, yet. One wave of her wand and a pair of pliers appeared out of nowhere. Pulling out toenails wasn't any good for psychological torture, but it did cause a lot of pain. And blood. Hermione felt no satisfaction as she removed his fingernails, it was more her style to cause the victim to torture himself, by giving him a series of impossible choices. Break 'em then kill 'em, that was always the most fun way of doing things she felt. And Creevey, he deserved a bit of fun before he died, but time was not in her favour. She only had a couple of hours to work, rather than the days or weeks she loved to have when extracting information. But she wasn't here for information. She was here to meet an old friend of hers, Death.

A quick spell knocked Creevey out, and another soon revived him. When Dennis awoke he felt an odd feeling on the back of his neck, moving his head forwards, he felt pressure mount on his eyes. With a jerk he moved his head back downwards, embedding the spike in his neck, and another instinctive jerk saw the other spikes buried in the remains of his eyes. Hmm, that'll do, thought Hermione, as she heard the shrieks that no-one else could hear. That'll do, but a bit quick for a real session. Her repeating watch sounded to tell her that it was quarter past the hour. Time to be off, but Creevey wasn't dead yet, not quite. Oh, well. That could soon be dealt with. A glimpse to her left saw a souvenir from Egypt on top of his chest of drawers. Those Egyptian wizards had known a thing or too, she thought. Particularly when making sure the dead stayed dead. She cast a simple whisking spell at his head, nicely tinkered with so that it would penetrate the skull and start its work there. All of a sudden, she heard a crack. Then another. And another. A small squad of aurors had arrived, though goodness knows how she'd manage to alert them. Raising her shield she prepared to apparated away. She had almost escaped when a blasting hex came at her. The shield absorbed it, wavered and fell. The tiny remnant of the blast that managed to break through threw her off balance and she fell. An awful splitting sound filled her ears. Sure, she'd managed to get away intact, all the way back home to the Boss. But her wand hadn't.

The Boss looked down sadly at his favourite angel of retribution and then across to Hermione sprawled across the floor.

"So, have you failed again? You know what I said I'd do if you failed again."

"Yes, Boss, but I didn't fail –Creevey's a stiff. But aurors, three aurors ambushed me just as I was about to leave."

"So, you succeeded in your mission, but still got ambushed, deary me. I'm not sure we can allow that. Give me your wand."

And Hermione did; all the dozens of fragments that were all that was left of it. The Boss did not seem impressed.

"So, you have come back without a wand. Where do you think you are going to find a replacement? You can't exactly go and buy one- far too obvious. No, you will have to suffer on without one, staying here and attending to the creation of my schemes, rather than to their execution."

Hermione felt tears well up inside her. She was being replaced, and that could lead to only one thing...But no! It was best not to think about it. She'd just get a new wand somehow. It's not that difficult to make one, surely. Or else I could start learning how to do without a wand. Not easy to teach yourself, but..Hang on just one moment. That Henry bloke had cast endless wandless spells when she had come to kill him. Perhaps he could teach her. He was still in the gaol – yes, he could teach her. Or maybe he even knew how to make a new wand. Yes. That's what she'd do.

With a manic gleam in her eye she disapparated, all fear gone and only hope in its place.


	4. Act I -Chapter 4

The prisoner in the cell next door was gibbering as Henry cast some spells to make his cell more comfortable, a soft bed, some drapes to keep out the stares of the other..detainees. As he cast a silencing charm around him he felt at long last that he might finally get a quiet night. Then she arrived. Wandless yet still powerful, she swept into the gaol and along to Henry's cell. She let herself in, using the fingerprint sensitive pad the Boss had insisted upon- more secure than locking spells, he'd said. Hermione sat down next to Henry, who noticed she seemed to be a different woman to the last time they had met. This time, she was an utterly broken person.

Instinctively, he put his arm round the sobbing woman, offering comfort to the woman who but a couple of days ago had been sneaking through his house trying to kill him. It was, after all, the decent thing to do. He asked her what was wrong and she explained about that her wand was broken, but she omitted the circumstance in which it had been broken.

Moved by the young witch's plight, he thought a bit about wands. H hadn't studied them that much, but surely they were just magical resonators, with the core acting as the resonator, and the wooden casing merely there to isolate the resonator from the environment. The resonant frequency would be unique to each particular witch or wizard, so each core would resonate best with a certain individual. That could be measured, quantified and hence the best wand combinations for any witch or wizard could be worked out from first principles, given a bit of work. Then, he opened his mouth.

"Miss Granger, I do believe that I could make you a replacement if you wanted me to, it should hardly be that difficult. I'll just need to take a few measurements of your personal perturbation to the universal magical field, and then I can make you one. At least," he added cautiously," if you can get me the raw materials."

Hermione readily agreed and Henry took his measurements. The core would be a crystalline mixture of Dragon sweat and dehydrated cockatrice venom and the outer case would be heart of oak- simply because it was the only wood magically strong enough to contain that deadly mix.

Hermione had assembled the ingredients within the month, despite spending almost the entirety of her time with the Boss, helping him nurture his most recent heinous plan to fruition. This was the big one; soon the auror office itself would be all but exterminated, in one massive blow, leaving behind only those already in the pay of the Boss.

The wand itself was easy to construct, although Henry nearly dried the cockatrice venom to the point of spontaneous explosion, and had to quench the flask it was being heated in, resulting in having to restart the drying process.

But nonetheless, the next time Hermione came by the cell, the wand was wrapped in a box and ready to be used.

"Ah, Ms Granger, your wand is finished, now, let's see whether it actually works or not."

As Hermione lifted the wand out of the box, she felt a warm glow, just as she had in Ollivander's many years ago.

"Probably best if you start with a few simple spells, to see how it bears out."

Hermione did, softly saying 'Lumos'.

Neither of them were prepared for what happened next – a vast ball of cold fire shot out of the wand and lit up the room to a painful brightness. They could both see it burning through their screwed up eyelids, until Hermione regained enough presence of mind to end the spell.

"Wow!"

"Wow, indeed Miss Granger. It would seem I have built you a wand tuned pretty much exactly to your natural frequency. You may want to go carefully with that. There are now but a few on this good Earth who good withstand even a simple blasting hex from that stick of yours, a true triumph of science over tradition, even if I say so myself"

"Quite the modest thing, aren't we."

"It comes with the territory"

Hermione smiled at this. Pleased with her new wand and the return to her previous status that it would surely bring. Pleased with the way this wand amplified her power more than any wand she had used before. Pleased with the power it gave her, for, as Chairman Mao almost said, Political power grows from the shaft of a wand. She could take on anyone, so much the better for the accomplishment of the most recent plan. It would be so much better than the Boss' usual plans, for it had had the benefit of her input. She always had been smarter than him, better at anything that involved thinking. But he'd had the vision, and so she followed him. After all, you can't lead anyone to the status quo.

With these happy thoughts in mind she knew it was time to return to her Boss. She quickly apparated away, into the middle of the biggest fire fight the wizarding world had ever seen.


	5. Act I -Chapter 5

Hermione instinctively raised a shield with her new wand. Suddenly, as if reacting to a new threat, all of the spell –fire in the room converged on her. Aurors blasting stunner after stunner, and her own Boss, unsure as to who had arrived casting several curses as well. Standing with the aurors was. No! Surely not! Her...Hermione boiled with anger seeing her Boss' bit on the side standing with the aurors. One of the angels of retribution had betrayed them. One of her angels. One of hers. She was rightfully the head of those angels, and now, with her new wand, she would reclaim her position. Vicious curses soon began flying about the room. The Boss had resumed attacking the aurors, who were now desperately trying to defend themselves, but to no avail.

Vicious spells went this way and that. It was a stalemate, but the aurors had the upper hand. Their surprise attack had eliminated most of the inner fold. Hermione may not have known it, but with the betrayal of _her_, she was the only person regularly at headquarters left alive, excluding, naturally, the Boss. Despite her new found strength, he was matching her every blow with at least two of his own.

The bodies of deceased aurors and miscreants littered the floor; in death they were all alike. A handful of wounded aurors had gotten to the corner of the room, where they were desperately trying to stay safe. Some of them had cuts; some were missing eyes, ears and others even major extremities. All had been uninjured before they arrived. With a vast boom, the doors of the throne room burst asunder. In came the Resistance, unpopular with aurors and the servants of the Boss alike. The Resistance usually fought bravely, but their few numbers could not usually resist heavy losses – official disapproval meant that their few numbers, though all hardened veterans of previous wizarding conflict, could not stay long in a fight. Both the aurors and the Boss's men could afford to lose a platoon of men more than the Resistance could afford to lose a fighter.

Nevertheless they came. They had heard of the aurors' plan to eliminate the Boss for good, and had come along, vigilantes though they were, to help finish him off. Their leader was struck by a barrage of curses the moment he stepped through the door. Some missed; some were absorbed by his shield; Hermione's curse, overpowered as was the norm since she had gotten her new wand, burst straight through the shield and left him with large tentacles growing all over his body. The rest of the resistance had spread out, taking whatever cover was available. After ten minutes of wizards fighting, all nearby furniture tends to gain a striking resemblance to match-sticks, so they hid behind the bodies of the dead. This arrival, unexpected by both the previous parties, soon tipped the balance of the fight away from the Boss. There was no way that two people, even two people as full with raw power as the Boss and his archangel of retribution, could ever withstand that onslaught. Hermione and the Boss were slowly being fought into separate corners. If one fell, then it could only be a matter of time before they were both dead. They both knew this and fought harder, casting spells that no-one had cast before, casting spells faster than either the aurors or the resistance had ever seen.

But it was not enough. The sheer weight of numbers fell upon them. For every spell they blocked there was always another to take its place. So busy were they trying to defend themselves, that they could not even attempt to attack their opponents. The wood panelled walls behind them began to char with the heat of deflected spells. Now, surely it was just a matter of time. Hermione knew what she had to do to save herself. She had to get away. If the Boss survived, there would be the devil to pay for abandoning him, but she could not fight any longer. She had reached her peak, done her best spell-work, all in the last few minutes. It was not enough. She felt her standing shield begin to waver and her mind turned to thoughts of escape. Thoughts of freedom and of life. A spell soon hit her already fragile shield and it reached breaking point. Thin rings of light passed over its surface as it collapsed. She tried, almost instinctively, to create a new one. But the incoming fire was too great, she had to block each spell individually, before, well, before she missed one and died. It was bound to happen sooner or later. A spell missed Hermione by a fraction of an inch, exploding into the wall behind her. A tiny bit of plaster hit her on the back of the head and all she remembered as she blacked out was a burst of magic.

In the other corner the Boss had seen Hermione falter. He had seen her face the brunt of the onslaught and he fought the harder for it. No-one attacked his friends but he himself! He hadn't faced a challenge like this in years. He was badly out of practice; he hadn't seen serious competition in the field since Voldemort had pegged out. Now though he was fighting for his life. Ducking this way and that all his old reflexes came back to him on a wave of adrenaline. If they were fighting to kill, then by Merlin's baggiest pair of white cotton Y-fronts, he was going to too. Ducking and diving, weaving and side-stepping he had soon found himself cornered, but like a wolf, once cornered he became if anything more fierce. Casting lethal spells and deadly curses he took all that they could throw at him and returned it tenfold. Still, it was not enough. Not enough of those bastards were dying. It was their fault he was having to do this, not his own. If they couldn't do their job properly, then he'd have to do it for them and woe betide anyone who might try and stop him. In the other corner Hermione's shield was failing. He could see it clearly, and then. No! They'd got her. A tide of anger swept from him. If he'd been fighting as he had at his peak a few moments ago, now he was even more full of wrath. He let out an inhuman howl, and released a barrage of spells that made even the combined shield of the forty or so remaining aurors crumble into dust. Each of them released spells back at him. The Resistance was fighting bravely, but if they'd killed his best friend, he would show no mercy. He usually respected bravery, but no longer. Now only one thought was on his mind. Death. He was its greatest servant, and had the gifts of death to prove it. He whipped his old cloak off his shoulders and covered himself. No longer could they see him, but they knew what he had done. They just bombarded the area they had last seen him in with spell after spell. It was no good though, every time he cast a spell they'd see where he'd move to and then retarget their spells. Every time he moved he couldn't attack, or he'd give away his new position. Finally, there was a lull in the fighting. He silently snuck over to the other side of the room, kneeling down, by the body of Hermione, he was filled with a sense of loss. No more would he accept the hand life had dealt him. The Boss was his attempt to change the rules, but it always came down to other people dying for he, The.., no he was Harry Potter, last of a long line and servant of death. He would face down his destiny like a man or not at all. Taking off the cloak, he unleashed a wave of devastation. The others there were stunned momentarily, but soon regained their composure. They attacked back, just as fiercely as before, if not more so. Harry raised his shield and felt the spells batter into it. Again and again the hateful spells battered into his shield, but it wouldn't yield. No, he could not be beaten. He unleashed another tirade of destruction, and braced himself the return volley. It came, but not from a source he'd expected. A wave of wrath and ruin filled the room and subsided again. Harry blacked out.


	6. Act I -Chapter 6

Hours earlier Henry had seen Hermione leave. He really did wonder about other people sometimes. Sure this was a magically secured prison, and he hadn't come in with a wand. A moment ago he'd had one though. Not that he needed one. He could do more with a wave of his hands, then many wizards could do if they'd had access to the perfect wand- he'd shown that much when Hermione had tried to capture him for the first time, oh that beautiful bumbling girl. No- he'd done what he'd remained to do. He'd spread the word of his new revolution. His revolution of the mind. Soon even the Boss would fear him. Knowledge was power, and well, now he was one Fourier transform away from finishing his proof of his theorem of magic. Nothing would be able to stop him.; he understood magic as no-one else did, its infinite glory and the never ending beauty of its complex intertwining fields, every person a perturbation, every spell a combination of fields. He was unstoppable.

He smiled as he thought how well his plan was working. Now all he needed was the political support. The Boss would be able to provide that, if he survived tonight. Henry's intelligence network hadn't stopped for his absence, and his house-elf had, without instructions, relayed every message to his current location. The aurors were planning to strike tonight, so was the Resistance. He'd gotten that arranged long ago. Now it was his turn. Wait for the great powers to all but wipe themselves out, and then step in, almighty in power, indefatigable in battle and revolutionary in theory. He would be a second Merlin. His noble ancestor had always inspired Henry. Unlike Merlin he wasn't going to be so daft as to trap himself, to lock himself away for love. Not even if that idiotic Granger girl asked him. Not for all the wealth in Christendom. He counted down the time on his watch. The Resistance should be arriving about now. Another five or ten minutes should do it. He undid the charms he cast, weeks ago now, to make his cell more comfortable. His fellow inmates were all asleep, all but one in the corner. They truly were the scum of humanity, rapists, murderers, politicians. Nothing would save them if he came to power, so he may as well start his final ascent with a bang, or at least a fire.

He moved his fingers, as a spin bowler might before releasing a delivery to knock out middle stump. The blaze started immediately. None of them would survive. Well, he would. He'd just apparated away. As the conflagration spread to the far corners of the room he left. He was invisible by virtue of his quick charm work – a simple case of moving the light around him- a magically induced Meissner effect, acting on both the electric and magnetic fields. Not too hard, once you knew the secret of it. The crack of apparition could not be easily disguised though. Oh well. If the battle was raging, no-one would be able to tell anyway.

He arrived, and boy was it raging. Hermione was dead in the corner, the Boss fighting like a man possessed. The Boss sent out a wave of fabulous ruin, it bounced off Henry's own defences, naturally- what could penetrate them? - and killed many of the aurors stone dead. The Boss's shield was long gone. Now all he need do was send out a wave of death of his own. Save for those select few he would, graciously, allow to live.

Hours later, after a brief stop of at home to make himself presentable- after all it would hardly do to seize power in clothes he had been wearing for nearly a month, nor with a month's worth of beard covering his face. Suitably dressed, he apparated into the ministry of magic itself. The first man to do so in thirty years, the first since that nasty business with Voldemort first began when he stepped outside he was first. First citizen of the magical world, first member of his family since Merlin to hold a political office, first person to become minister and vaporise the previous incumbent. This hadn't been for political reasons - indeed killing the great mound of blubber who had until recently been minister seemed a great waste of time- but for reasons of sartorial beautification. That suit had been dreadful. Lilac with pinstripes-no wonder then, that the muggles thought wizards were weird. No wonder at all.

Harry woke in a dingy room, and opposite lay Hermione.

"Hey, Herms, wake up" he said softly.

Blearily she opened her eyes

"You haven't called be that in ages Boss."

"Don't call me Boss. I'm Harry. Just Harry, OK?"

"OK Harry. Do you know where we are?"

"In a cell. Our guard tells me that we've a new minister for magic- the Earl of Winterslow. He's sent us an ultimatum- join him or die."

" made me a new wand, you know, Harry. Still got it on me. He says he's devised a new way of thinking about magic - inspired by muggle physics. A bit odd though, don't you think, sitting all that time in a cell, our prisoner, just to this to us, without any hint of vengeance?"

"Very odd indeed Hermione, Very odd indeed"


	7. Act II -Chapter 1

Act II

Years passed. The Earl was still in charge, the muggles were still oblivious to magic. Change had happened though. At Hogwarts a new subject, theory of magic, was being taught. It dissipated all the knowledge that the Earl had accumulated and spreads it out, so that it might take seed and spread, a flourishing new branch of the tree of knowledge that might stay alive until the world's end. That had always been the Earl's plan, his usurpation of power a mere means to an end.

Harry and Hermione were minor officials in the department of magical law enforcement. Draco Malfoy had skilfully played the political game, in the days following the fall of the Boss and had kept his job. Now he was head of the department that Harry and Hermione both worked in. He was one of only four people alive who had known the identity of the Boss and his Archangel of retribution. He did not mind them working in his department –who better to catch a criminal than a criminal, after all? It did him no harm to have the two greatest living heroes of the Voldemort wars working for him either, the wider wizarding public did not know of Harry's fall from grace. Not even the aurors had found that out, before that fateful day where the Earl took power.

The revolution had ushered in a new wave of technological development. None could challenge the Earl for knowledge of his new theory, but it was soon freely published. Enterprising men and women the nation over, read it and were inspired. There were more spells being invented daily now, than had been invented in a year, mere decades before. Just as Newton's Laws gave birth to the industrial revolution, the Earl's equations gave birth to the revolution of the mind. Nothing and no-one could challenge the popularity of the Earl in the early years. He was the man who had brought the nation a new prosperity, after years of uncertainty and economic decay that had started in the time of Grindelwald. He was the man who had eliminated the threat of the Boss and his nefarious angels. He was the man, this was the hour. This was his hour.

But it soon became clear that the wily academic was not all that he purported to be. His seizure of power was controversial to say the least. His political methods were crude and unpopular. Nonetheless, no-one dared threaten him. He had slain the Boss and his Archangel they said. Freed Harry Potter from the prisons of that villain and reinvigorated the economy.

No-one dared threaten him, except for two. Harry and Hermione were fed up in their role as hitwizards. Malfoy was causing them both problems, yet with the Earl's support he ran the department in a way none would have thought possible. The conviction rate rose, the crime rate fell and costs fell by a factor of a half. Having been brought up in the great old tradition of bribing officials to get what you wanted, he introduced legislation to make it nearly impossible to bribe a ministry official 'legally'. Tradition swept away corruption on a tide of innovation and novelty. With these renovations the British ministry had become the envy of the magical world.

The Earl was taking credit for the whole change, despite most of it being Malfoy's work. He wouldn't, couldn't fight the Earl on his own though. The time was not quite right for a counter-revolution, being the trigger of that was likely to be extremely fatal, and for all his long hours stuck behind a desk, Draco was not yet ready to part with his.

The scene for the second act of the revolution was set. All it needed now was a spark to light the gunpowder keg of resentment that was growing on a daily basis.

The story of this upheaval started at Hogwarts, as so many tales of this age seem to do. Minerva McGonagall was the Headmistress and she was damn near to achieving the impossible- living up to Albus Dumbledore's shadow. It had helped that Snape had has his year before she took over – she wasn't stepping directly into the great man's pointy shoes – but she was still being compared to Dumbledore and when the truth had come out, Snape. Hogwarts had been rebuilt after the war. The final battle against the death eaters had left Hogwarts a genuine ruin with most of its innate spells and protections damaged beyond repair. She had spent two years organising the reconstruction, and insuring that the teaching of young witches and wizards still continued. The castle was almost unrecognisable to what it had been before. Several of the oldest towers had been demolished since they were structurally unsound, but for every tower demolished two new ones were built. The Hydra that was Hogwarts had regrown its heads, and was moving onto greater things. With the downfall of Voldemort, one last curse had been removed- that on the job of defence against the dark arts teacher. This was now filled by a grim former auror, one who made Alastor Moody seem like happiness incarnate.

Finding a theory of magic teacher though, now that had been hard. The person to fill the job would have to teach themselves the subject as they taught it, command the respect of the student body and make some advances in the field themselves, if they wanted to keep the job on a long term basis. The Earl wasn't an option, first of all he was minister for magic, and therefore unavailable, secondly he was ever so slightly not quite right in the head and a liability around children. She didn't have time to take the job on herself, but she needed someone who was a cut above all the standard dusty academic that all communities seem to generate.

Eventually, she found the woman to do the job. Professor D. Partington. Five years ago she would have said that woman was crazy and more trouble than she was worth. Now however, now she was worth her weight in dragon's blood. She had just the kind of intellect required to quickly pick up and then pass on information like this. Her mathematical abilities were nearly unsurpassed amongst wizards, although no muggle would deem them extra-ordinary. Good, yes, extra-ordinary, no.

McGonagall was ready for the start of term, all had been organised, most of it taken care of by Flitters, in his role as deputy head, much as she had for Albus and Severus. All was calm.


	8. Act II -Chapter 2

Term began on 1st September. It always had done and as far as anyone was concerned it always would do. It was a time of excitement for all the new first years, not excluding Bathilda Bence. She had been named for a long-dead aunt who she had never met. Bathilda slammed through the barrier at the platform and saw it for the first time-a magnificent engine in scarlet and gold, with a train of finest Pullman carriages stretching out behind it.

"Mind out please, I'm coming through" she heard from one direction,

"Oi! Watch it, that's my toad you nearly trod on there!" from another. The business of humanity in that place was truly impressive for a young girl who had come from the country. Never before had she seen so many people. In one corner stood a man and a woman, two hitwizards, chatting casually to anyone and everyone who was nearby, she had brown hair, he black. She recognised neither of them. She was struggling to get on to the train – her father, a muggle couldn't get onto the platform and her mother had died in childbed, so no-one was there to help her- when a young boy came over.

"Do you need some help to get onto the train?" he asked, "I'm sure I can get my father to give you a hand."

"Thanks very much, the name's Bence by the way."

"Striver Solomon at your service." He gave a small bow and Bathilda let out a small giggle, which she instantly regretted.

"What's so funny Bence?" he instantly rounded on her, "I'll have you know that Striver is a family name."

"Oh no- it's not that, it's just I've never seen someone under the age of sixty say the words 'at your service' before."

"Right." Striver didn't look convinced, but seemed prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt. At that moment his father arrived. A stern looking man in his early fifties he had what is politely described as an aquiline nose and had dark hair and a large degree of male pattern baldness.

"Found a friend have we Junior? How nice. "He seemed disapproving of Bathilda, although she had no idea why.

"Would you care for a hand with your luggage?" he asked, on the prompting of his son's eyebrows.

They climbed into the carriage and not long after they were on their way. The magnificent engine was soon pounding its powerful passage through the countryside. From above a couple of owls saw the steam billowing from the gilded funnel and hooted. About two o'clock a smiling woman came round, pushing a large trolley that looked as though it had once been full of sweets.

"Anything off the trolley, dears? I'm afraid we've only got Bertie Bott's Beans and a couple of packets of Droobles best gum left. The rest of the train has pretty much cleared me out."

"No thanks, I brought some stuff with me" said Bathilda. Striver bought the remaining gum and slumped down back into his chair.

"Well, I suppose we'd best get changed into our robes sometime soon. Would you like me to step outside while you change?" He asked. He had no idea why, but his father had told him it was the thing to do, if there were any girls in his compartment.

"Yeah, maybe later," replied Bathilda "the robes'll only get creased if we put them on now."

The conversation drifted this way and that for a while, each exchanging comments on mere trifles and abstract nothings, to try and get to know each other.

"So, Bence," Striver said at last, "do you have any other names?"

"Yes, but you can call me Bence –everyone I like does."

"So, you've got a stinker of a name too?"

"Yeah, Mum named me Bathilda, after some great-aunt or other, Dad didn't want to change it, so I'm stuck with it."

"Bathilda's one of my favourite names," Striver lied, charmingly.

"Thanks, but I think it's just awful – everyone calls you Batty, and that's not nice. I don't know what my mother was thinking when she chose it."

"Haven't you ever asked?"

"No, she died giving birth to me."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know"

"It's nothing, I never knew her. I know it sounds bad, but I don't miss her or anything like that- I didn't ever know her so how could I?" Striver didn't say anything, so she carried on telling him about her past.

"She was a witch, and decided to have a home birth, so when it all went wrong there wasn't anyone to help – Dad knew I was going to be coming to Hogwarts, he told me all Mum's old stories while I was growing up. My favourite one was about the time she got stuck in the trick stair and had to wait for some old beard to come and rescue her."

"So your Dad didn't go to Hogwarts then?"

"No, Mum did like all her family – she was a Bagshot of Godric's Hollow, Dad didn't he was Eton, then Oxford, like all his family had always done."

"So you're mum married a muggle, didn't her family think she was marrying below her?"

"Yeah, well so did Dad's- he's a muggle Lord, she was a pureblood commoner. You've got to see a funny side really."

Striver did, and they spent the rest of the journey telling stories about their families. The long ride had just seemed to pass by, and by the time they reached Hogsmeade station each knew they had made a friend.

"Firs' years over 'ere! Firs' years this way!" boomed the biggest man either of them had ever seen. His greying hair and beard flowed over his moleskin overcoat. The first years gathered around him and followed as he led them to the boats.

"Two to a boa'! No more'n two to a boa'!" Bathilda and Striver clambered into one of the boats – the big man took one up all by himself. Then they were moving. A couple of the girls shrieked as the boats clunked into movement. Gliding through the water, they rounded a bend and they saw it. Hogwarts Castle, scene of the greatest battle of recent times, though if you hadn't heard about it you'd never have known.

When they got out the other side they rushed up to the castle, struggling to keep up with the huge man. He knocked on the door three times. Thud! Thud! Thud! As the door opened the smallest man they had ever seen opened it.

"The first years, Professor Fli'wick" said the big man.

"Ah, yes, thank-you Professor Hagrid, I'll take them from here" said the small man.

Any other time the first years were have burst into laughter, at the ridiculously juxtaposition of the big and the small, but not now. Now they were nervous, a little excitable perhaps and all of them concerned about what was going to happen. Bathilda got the idea that this was a man who you could go to, if you ever needed help, with anything, but also that he could be incredibly dangerous if crossed. With an instruction to smarten themselves up, Professor Flitwick left them in a side chamber, and instantly a curious babble about what was going to happen sprang up.


	9. Act II -Chapter 3

Professor Flitwick returned. He led them into the Great Hall of Hogwarts, following a brief explanation of what was about to happen, and instructed them to gather about by a gnarly, old and battered hat. Bathilda knew she had to try the hat on, but honestly, she'd expected something a little less..well, jumble sale, really. Then a rip in the hat opened like a mouth and began its customary song.

_The tale grows in the telling,_

_That is what they said._

_That history repeats itself,_

_When all who were are dead._

_They founded this great school of ours_

_Many years ago;_

_In order that young wizardkind_

_Might begin once more to know._

_Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Slytherin_

_Only select few they took_

_But ye need fear not for_

_Hufflepuff took those the rest forsook._

_Soon as time passed they became old and frail_

_and how would they sort students out_

_when they were gone away?_

_God Gryffindor he gave a shout_

_And whipped me off his head_

_And there came the Hogwarts' Sorting Hat_

_One hat to sort them all._

_So now many years down the line,_

_I've seen you come and go_

_And I will sit upon your skull_

_And work out what you know_

_And send you to a great house_

_Belonging to one of the Hogwarts' four._

_But now your attending far away_

_I'll sing but a little more_

_It's time to begin the sorting_

_And find out who you are._

The hat finished its song and the sorting began. Bathilda and Striver were both sorted into Gryffindor. Following the feast, they headed up to Gryffindor common room, and then to bed.

Nothing unusual happened. Potions with the Slytherins, flying lessons with the Ravenclaws and Herbology with the Hufflepuffs. The excitement of being at a new school had long died down before anything vaguely interesting happened.

One grey and dreary November afternoon everyone was sent back to their respective common rooms, according to the message that ordered it, for reasons of safety.

Naturally, no-one in Gryffindor house knew what was going on. Minerva McGonagall did though, and she was worried. Dead worried.

Not long earlier, she had heard an excited knock on her office door. Before she could reply, in burst Professor Flitwick burst in, with two first years in tow.

"Professor McGonagall, these two have just found the body of Professor Partington-she's been petrified!"

All the colour drained from Minerva's face. Surely it was not happening again. Potter killed the beast years ago. She knew at once that she had to get in outside help – Potter was the man to solve this problem. She told Filius to sit the children down in the waiting area just outside the office and stick with them while she did something.

When they came back in, not ten minutes later, the hitwizards from the station were there.

"Can we talk to the witnesses?" said the man.

"Certainly" said McGonagall, curtly.

"Hello. My name is Harry. I understand that you two found the Professor?"

"Yes," squeaked Striver, nervously, "that was us. We fetched Professor Flitwick immediately-but it wasn't us. We didn't do it."

"I know," said Harry, "No-one believes that you had anything to do with it. It was clearly very dark magic that mere first years would not be capable of."

"Ok." Mumbled Bathilda, she was sure she could do it, after all, she made her match go shiny and pointy on her first attempt at transfiguration.

Harry finished his interview with Striver and Bathilda, who were then taken back to their common room by Professor Flitwick.

"Well, Harry, Hermione, what do you think?" said Minerva at last. Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, and promptly confessed they had no idea.

"A quick check in the chamber of secrets might be worthwhile, though" said Hermione.

"And checking to see whether the Professor was cursed or not" said Harry.

This would all take time though, and they all knew it. Besides, getting to the bottom of this would require plenty of interviews, with all the staff and a load of pupils. Harry and Hermione were going to investigate this – McGonagall had called up the head of their department to arrange this- no matter how long it took. These was clearly a serious crime, but certainly not worth wasting auror time on - no known dark wizards were involved, nor were there yet any suspects to handle - so as with all singular crimes, this one went to the hitwizards. Minerva had asked for Harry and Hermione by name, she had liked the two when she had taught them and more importantly they knew about the chamber of secrets, a good starting point in any petrification at Hogwarts, even if the basilisk was long rotted away. It was decided that to save them having to spend hours getting in and out of the castle, or McGonagall having to bring them in by the floo network every day, that they would take lodgings within the castle itself for the duration of their investigation.

McGonagall led them up a tower that hadn't been there the last time they were at Hogwarts.

"We used the repairs as a chance to extend the castle, it's been getting too small for ages now. With the protective charms down, the governors decided that it was the perfect time for an expansion- given the cost of retuning the defensive spells to cover the new areas wasn't an option before." Said McGonagall as she led them up the twisting stairs inside this tower.

"One of the main things we built was extra accommodation, if the place gets much bigger we might have to open a new house up and since we were building, it made sense to build the dorms for it. It may not be great-only school dorms after all- but you'll still have the place entirely to yourself, a common room and the suite of rooms."

McGonagall suddenly stopped in front of a portrait that Hermione realised was of an old wizard. A wizard who was the closest the wizarding world had to god. When she swore, she took this wizard's name in vain. Looking exceedingly damp, as though he had just escaped from a pillar of water, there before her stood undoubtedly,

"Merlin at your service, my dear Lady and good sir."


	10. Act II -Chapter 4

"Merlin?" started Hermione as they stood there. "Merlin, wasn't he in Slytherin or something? Why are you giving Slytherin a second House?"

"My dear Miss Granger," the painting began to speak, "while I appreciate your zeal, I would care to remind you that I trapped myself in a water spout for the Lady of the Lake in the year of Our Lord, 753. Hogwarts was not founded for over a hundred years, so how pray, was I in Slytherin House?!"

"Sorry," mumbled Hermione, but they always bragged that you were.

"An impossibility I assure you. It has taken the magic of that prison this long to subside enough to let just my portrait escape it."

"Camelot" said McGonagall, and Merlin swung open to let them pass through.

Inside it was truly splendid, red leather couches and wingback chairs were scattered liberally about a room decorated in a stately black. In the corner a freshly laid fire was roaring in the magnificent stone fireplace. No-one could deny that this was accommodation truly fitted for royalty, or even the godhead of the wizarding world himself. They scrambled upstairs, Hermione taking the right staircase and Harry the left and they belted up to the rooms. Hermione's was perfect, right down to the fluffy blue slippers by the bed and the desk, replete with reams of paper, and pints of ink, sat in on corner, away from the window, perfect for late night working.

They rushed down stairs again and accepted McGonagall's offer. For the first time in years, they would be back in Hogwarts and for the first time in years they could tell that they weren't being tracked by the Earl. Minerva left and said she'd send them a house-elf so they could arrange bringing their stuff to the school.

The elf that turned up not long after was none but, Harry's own, Kreacher.

"Master Harry, sir! How can I help you? I suppose the mu..other girl will want help as well?"

"Oh, Kreacher! Well, I'll need my stuff picking up – do you know where I live? And the same goes for Hermione, she's been living in my spare room since her flat was flooded last month."

"Very well master." The surly elf bowed to Harry and disapparated. Moments later he reappeared with seven outlandishly large cases, that belonged to neither Harry nor Hermione. He soon disappeared again, and came back with Hermione's wind-up jukebox. Her parents had bought her it for her eighteenth birthday, since they knew magic couldn't be used at Hogwarts. It was the last thing they had ever given her, and she treasured it beyond measure.

Kreacher asked whether he was needed to do anything else and on being told that there wasn't, he once more disapparated, this time returning to the kitchens.

"I've missed that elf in a way." Said Harry. Hermione hadn't, she said so and also wondered what they were doing about food.

"Well, its a bit late for a romantic meal for two in Madame Puddifoots, but we might be able to head down for a bite in the great hall. Minerva did say we could, after all."

"I suppose so." Replied Hermione – what was all that about a romantic meal, she wondered, Harry had been making odd comments like that and not pursuing them for a while now. If he had been any other man, she'd have taken it as a hint that he wanted to date her, but Harry..? No, not Harry, she well knew that he wasn't interested in her like that at all and he knew that she felt the same. No, it must be something else, but what? Perhaps he was flirting for fun? Yes, that seemed more likely, or perhaps he's getting back in practise? She wondered who he'd got his green eyes on. It would be good for him to have another half she decided. It would be good for her too, but she knew she wouldn't be happy except with someone who she loved and respected as an equal partner, and there weren't a whole lot of those about now, were there? Intellectually she was damn near the Earl, but he was a total bastard. Then there was, well no-one really. It seemed to Hermione that marriage was not on the cards for her. Oh well.

Harry and Hermione stepped outside of the common room. Merlin yelled at them-apparently he hadn't remembered what an indoor voice was. They soon arrived down in the great hall, and as they opened the magnificent twin doors, an eerie silence descended on the room, broken only by the sounds of three hundred jaws dropping simultaneously. They walked up to the high table, and took seats either side of Hagrid.

"Hullo you two. S'good to have you back." He mumbled softly. Harry thought that Hagrid seemed a bit subdued. The noise in the hall was slowly picking up again as people returned to their previous conversations. Harry tucked into the food, which had just appeared on his plate. The hall looked different from up here. Smaller, somehow and the student populations was smaller too, not physically- the current Ravenclaw beaters were built like a battleship, but in numbers and it really emphasised just how close to annihilation the wizarding population really was. There were too few true wizards left now, too few. Soon they'd be having trouble getting the manpower to contain all the magical incidents and then, well then the muggles would have to start dealing with dragons and manticores and angry herds of centaurs on their own.

After an excellent meal the two hitwizards retired for the evening, back to their common room, to plan the day ahead. Merlin was problematic though. He'd gone off, to who knows where, given how many paintings of him there were in the world. Stuck outside until, well, who knows when, they decided to carry on and start their investigations there and then. Since they didn't know what apart from a basilisk could petrify someone, they decided that their first stop would be, as was almost traditional, the library.


	11. Act II -Chapter 5

With easy access to the restricted section they soon made quick progress-what a difference it made not having to plan for weeks to get a book out of that selection! Petrification, they read could be caused by a basilisk (no, really!), or else a small selection of dark but obscure curses. Not much else was up to the job. Basilisk-petrification was easily resolved; a simple mandrake draught would do the job, as they both knew from unfortunate personal experience. Petrification by dark magic though, could only be reversed by the application of an appropriate counter-curse. Generally these did not exist, the book went on, and the basement of St Mungo's was full of these statues, not dead, but not alive either, waiting for someone to invent a cure. It also mentioned the last case of a new counter-curse for petrification was invented in 1842. The old mandrake draught that was left over from the pair's second year didn't work, but that could have been due to age. Nonetheless, things did not look promising for getting a victim report.

An investigation into who had access to the castle yielded nothing – most of the senior members of staff could cast the spells required to petrify someone, but they'd all been teaching when Partington had been 'done in', maybe one or two of the seventh years could have done it as well, but they had equally good alibis. The house-elves, well possibly, but neither Harry nor Hermione could see any motive there. Outsiders? Well, they didn't know of anyone who could break into Hogwarts, except, well. It couldn't be him. That'd be daft.

That there was a second basilisk and no-one had noticed was a further possibility – their only plausible lead at this stage. They prepared themselves for the plunge down into the deep, dark and dank chamber. Rock falls were a real threat to them, but at least there, there they couldn't be tracked or traced. There they could finally speak their minds to each other.

"Open up" said Harry, concentrating. All Hermione heard was a faint hissing sound. It appeared that the gift of parseltongue wasn't dependant on the presence of Voldemort's soul after all.

"Ladies first" said Harry, gallantly.

"No, I insist, after you" said Hermione. It may not have been her first trip down to the chamber, but she couldn't go there without thinking of Ron. It was where they'd shared that kiss after all. Harry jumped down the pipe and Hermione slid down after him. The pipe hadn't gotten an cleaner in the intervening years, and by the time they got to the bottom their cloaks were covered in a fine green slime. Oh, and the rat skeletons. They'd forgotten about those, but were sharply reminded as the first of many went crunch and snap underfoot. They lit up the ends of their wands, and went down the tunnel, same old snakeskin, still as impressive as ever. Now the great Brazen portal to the chamber loomed in front of them – the great rock fall that the bumbling Lockhart had set off had been long cleared, Harry wondered who had done it. Another quick bit of parseltongue and they were through, into the body of the chamber itself. No obvious sign of a second snake. The first was lying dead and rotted away by the statue where Harry had left it for dead. Hermione let out a tear at the memory of that kiss. Harry wasn't much better off- this is where Ginny had finally begun to see him as Harry, rather than Harry Potter, the Boy-who-lived. There was no obvious sign of any new snake. They were both rather relieved at this. While they knew they could deal with any such serpent quite easily now- Hermione still had the wand that the Earl had given her that fateful night and Harry, well, he knew more dark spells than any man alive- but still, they were glad there was nothing down there.

The gladness mingled with the sadness. It was strange that such a foetid and evil place could represent love to each of them, but that was what it did. Looking about the place, each caught the others eye. The loneliness was overwhelming. Only following the deaths of the remaining Weasleys had they felt so lonely, so without anyone. Another glance and each remembered that they still had one friend. Only one person had stuck by Harry the whole time, and he began to realise how little he had paid attention to her. He'd been chasing after that traitorous little wench, when he'd had Hermione by him the whole time. Hermione wondered what on earth Harry could be thinking, he had given her that strange look more and more often recently- what could it mean? The loneliness of the place surged over her again, as her contemplation drove her back within herself once more. She desperately needed someone. Even a hug from Snape would have been welcome then, but she had Harry. He'd give her the comfort she needed so desperately- he'd be feeling the same way about Ginny for certain. She embraced him.

"Oh Harry! I miss him so much. All that time when you were the Boss, all that stuff, it helped suppress it all. Oh, Ron! Why? I just want to kill everyone who made it happen. It might not bring him back, but.." Hermione's sobbing voice trailed off as the tears rolled down her face. Harry just carried on hugging her, gently swaying from side to side. He thought of Ginny, who he'd lost, and Hermione, who he'd never have, and started to cry himself.

After half an hour, they could cry no more. They still felt as sad, but no tears would come. Slowly they looked at each other. Each nodded and they carried on. Up, up and out they went. The chamber was definitely empty, as each felt their own soul to be. Empty, without hope and without possibility of hope. They heavily walked to the pipe. A simple levitation spell to take them out of that low place took three attempts to cast. Soon they were at the top. They should have felt better, leaving that chamber of memories, but no. The deadness had set in and nothing but a good night's sleep would lift its rot from their hearts, and that only for but a while. They knew however, that no basilisk had done the deed, nor any member of the Hogwarts staff or student body. A quick check with the house-elves tomorrow would solve the mystery for certain. Wearily the duo trudged up the tower, said the password to an annoyingly perky Merlin;

"I say, you look rather glum. I've just got back from visiting 'man eating onglet'. He let me have some of his bit of skirt-very nice."

They said the password and Merlin opened up for them. Emotionally exhausted, they fell up the stairs and tumbled into bed, without even bothering to change out of their robes.


	12. Act II -Chapter 6

A brief conversation with Kreacher soon showed that he knew nothing about the incident, nor did any of the Hogwarts' house-elves. Now they knew who'd done it. Only one thing remained, to finish the job. To this end, Harry asked McGonagall to invite Draco Malfoy, technically their boss and the person empowered to make out the arrest warrants, to Hogwarts where they would reveal the culprit. He soon arrived and the quartet sat down in the comfortable common room of the suite where Harry and Hermione had spent the last few weeks.

"Is everyone sitting comfortably?" asked Harry, "then I'll begin."

"Professor D. Partington was found attacked by two first year students at quarter past three on Monday afternoon, who immediately reported the fact to Professor Flitwick. On examining the victim, he found that she had been petrified and referred the matter to Professor McGonagall. At that point we were brought in" Harry gestured to himself and Hermione.

"Following our determination of when the victim had last been seen alive before the petrification,we set about investigating the possible causes of petrification. One, we all know well, that of a basilisk's glare. Hogwarts has a history of Basilisk activity, so we thought it worthwhile to follow up that lead, even if the only known basilisk in the castle was confirmed dead. Other causes are four or five dark curses which can cause petrification, only three of these have a cure and all are far too advanced magic for any student currently at Hogwarts to work – they'd require someone of the likes of Professors Flitwick, McGonagall or the defense teacher, Professor Hobson, to work. All three of these members of staff were busy teaching at the time of the attack, as were several others. Those who weren't include the caretaker, Argus Filch, who we know to be innocent for..other reasons, Professor Sprout, who was in the Hospital wing with a nasty bite from a venomous tentactula and Professor Trelawney, who we do not believe could have cast such a spell. The house-elves also confirmed that none of them had done the deed, however one of them did suggest that they had sensed an unusual presence in the castle that day."

"Hang on" said Malfoy, "You two arrived that day, wouldn't you count as an unusual presence?"

"No, Sir, we would not-we'd been to Hogwarts, so they recognised us apparently. No, this was someone who had never been to Hogwarts before in their life." finished Harry. By now his mouth was quite dry, so he indicated for Hermione to take over while he had some water.

"Since there were no obvious suspects, we searched the quarters of the Professor in an attempt to find out whether anyone had a motive. Her quarters had not been touched, seemingly, before we got there, since the moment we arrived we had ordered that no-one was to go in there. This meant that the last person to go in there was either the Professor, or the person who petrified her. In the fireplace we found a pile of ashes and some scraps of parchment. There didn't appear to be enough left to tell whether this was significant, but an open file lying next to the fireplace, made it seem as if someone had burnt a communication. On the outside of the file was marked 'Questions about theory'. This could of course have been a homework assignments folder, but I don't know why anyone would want to burn one of those. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary, sow e returned to dtudy the fireplace. A sweep of the room for magical traces showed that the fire in the grate had been lit most recently without a wand, and not by a house-elf. This means it was done wandlessly. Partington herself was known not to have been able to do this- there are few wizards out there who could. A further search in the fireplace showed that one page of a letter had survived. It was, apparently, a copy of a letter Partington had sent to somebody. It was covered in complicated mathematical workings, of the sort used in theoretical magic. Later that week, Harry and I prepared ourselves to go down into the chamber of secrets, to confirm that there was no basilisk there. We found none, nor any sign that the chamber had been opened since Voldemort's demise. We therefore are forced to conclude that Hogwarts castle was infiltrated by an outside force, who for reasons pertinent to themselves, attacked Professor Partington, so that she'd be unable to talk, but not so as she'd actually die. Clearly someone slightly concerned about conscience, but not too concerned. Whoever it would must also have been a powerful wizard, since no-one was noticed going up or down the drive that day. This either implies that the perpetrator knew about the secret passages into the castle, again unlikely, that they could cast a power disillusionment charm – but then why weren't the charms on the gates set off? Or else, they apparated straight in an out of Hogwarts."

"Don't be silly Hermione, that's not possible. I'd have thought you'd remember from when you were here." Said the headmistress.

"On the other hand," said Harry, "Dumbledore could do it. On the night he died," Harry left a poignant pause here, in which Draco had the decency to look ashamed. "he apparated myself and himself in and out of Hogwarts." Harry continued. "It can be done."

"But who?"

"there's only one person we know of, who has an interest in magical theory, who might all but kill over it, in fact, an who has the ability to cast spells wandlessly, who hasn't been to Hogwarts before and who could have gotten in and out of the castle without being noticed. We checked his public calendar, and nothing filled the spot in which Partington was done in." Surmised Harry.

"surely not." Said Draco.

"Yes" said Hermione. McGonagall still seemed curious.

"Who?" Harry paused before answering Mc Gonagall's question.

"The Earl of Winterslow."


	13. Act III -Chapter 1

It was a full two weeks since Harry and Hermione had revealed that the Earl was behind the petrification of Professor D. Partington. Things had moved quickly then. They knew that the moment the Earl got wind of them having caught him, he would soon fall down on them like a tonne of bricks, and each would be dead before the week was out. They therefore resolved to announce that there was no evidence on the matter of who had petrified Partington, and then Harry, Hermione and Draco would work on defeating the Earl together. McGonagall would carry on running Hogwarts.

The rebellion had begun.

The start was good. Draco consolidated the auror movement, and ensured that he weeded out those whose loyalty to the Earl would prevent them moving against him when the time came. All of this went unnoticed of course, that was the great wisdom that Draco now possessed; never let anyone know what you are doing, why you are doing it or when. He had learnt that lesson the hard way, and now he was more secretive than anyone else he knew.

Harry carried on in the Hitwizards' office. There he could get in contact with the criminal underworld, on a I don't arrest you, you work for me, sort of basis. Soon most of the criminal underworld was in the pocket of the rebellion. It may not be much, but those spivs and fencers, 'honest Guv! It fell of the back of a lorry!' was to them as much of a way of life as it was a way of living, and they had an unrivalled intelligence network, even if they had very little intelligence between them.

Hermione though, took the most dangerous mission. She had the most powerful wand, so she was selected for it. She had to cause a menace. The Archangel of Retribution had returned. Naturally, she had to give up her job at the Ministry. Moreover the Earl knew that it was her – no-one else would willingly associate themselves with the seemingly vanquished servant of the Boss. The wizarding world had been rife with rumours, ever since neither the Boss nor his chief servant were charged, tried, or even seen after the night the Earl took power. She would be the figurehead of this resistance, at least in the beginning. But first she would have to rehabilitate her reputation, and spread the news about the depravities of the administration of the Earl. She would be hunted, by hitwizards and aurors alike, but just as Kingsley Shacklebolt had misled the department for magical law enforcement about the whereabouts of Sirius Black, so would Draco and Harry work to keep her location a secret.

She started small, a simple plan to get her back into the swing of things before carrying on. There were several supporters of the Boss who had never been high-up enough to know their true identities. One of them, a certain Jon Riley, was now a personal adviser to the Earl. Such treachery would not be tolerated. As she once more donned her mask and her silky grey robes she instantly transformed from Hermione the pretending-to-be-nice to Hermione the not-very-nice-at-all. A hard glint entered her eyes and she was filled with the wrath of years of humiliation. For years she and Harry had suffered as mere hitwizards, suffering from disapproval from everyone. Disapproval at their lack of accomplishments. Disapproval that they hadn't led a resistance against the Boss, but had fallen victim to him. There is nothing so low in the eyes of the people as a past hero failing to relive their heroics.

Silkily and like a leaf falling gracefully from a tall beech tree, she left her hideout and slipped out into the world. Look out! The Archangel of Retribution had returned and now she really had something to take vengeance for. With the fire of wrath burning in her veins and the ice of intellect keeping her actions cool and calculating, she was truly a force to be reckoned with. Jon Riley would be the first to face the reckoning. With a crack that sounded like a clap of thunder, she apparated straight into his house. Anti-disapparition jinxes meant nothing to her. She'd read the theory and now knew how it was possible. That fact she kept secret even from Harry. Riley however guessed it the moment she arrived.

"Bleedin' Heck! I thought you were bloody dead, I did!" exclaimed Riley. Those are not good last words, whatever way you look at it. Within mere seconds Hermione cast an evisceration hex on him, a particularly vicious curse she had picked up in a book in Hogwarts' library restricted section. The curse was powerful enough that she felt obliged to cast a shield charm in a vain attempt to keep her robes cleanish from blood. That curse was horrible. It reminded Hermione of some pictures she had seen of Jack the Ripper's victims. The Ministry had a file full of information on the case, which she found fascinating. Unlike the muggle police, who were still very much in a nascent form then, the auror department had found out the culprit, a particularly vicious wizard from Scotland and proceeded to wipe him of the face of the planet. It seemed to Hermione quite likely that this was the spell that had been used. Leaving behind a letter addressed to the aurors, she left and apparated home. She wondered when he would be missed. He had been a single man, no girlfriend or anything, so it seemed that the earliest he could be found missing was Monday, the body wouldn't be found for a while yet.

Hermione apparated back to her hide-out. Oh, how she wished it was more comfortable, and sent a patronus-message to say that she had accomplished her mission. Harry would pick it up and the political machinations would start. As she dropped off to sleep she knew one thing. The Earl was going down.


	14. Act III -Chapter 2

Draco Malfoy rolled out of bed in the same way he had done for years. Slowly. He swung round and placed his feet on the thickly carpeted floor and put his head in his hands. Why was his life so mucked-up? Why did he always end up in rebellions against the status quo? Why couldn't he just settle down, find himself a nice witch and be happy? These questions and more besides filled his head, as they did every morning. Outside it was still dark; no birds were yet awake to sing the dawn chorus that Draco usually woke up to. No, this morning he was getting up extra early; he would have to be in best form when he got to the office. Last Friday had been the attack after all. It was only a matter of time before Riley was reported missing and his department were tasked with finding where the wastrel was. In a small way he pitied whoever was going to find them. A hurried and coded message from Potter was all he had relieved to tell him that the mission had been a success. Nonetheless, he knew how Hermione had operated. She could be cold and vicious and without a doubt the scariest witch of the age. Hardly a surprise then, that she was single. Potter however, Draco had noticed, was clearly in love with her. It amused him to think of Hermione being oblivious to anything, but it seemed to him that she was oblivious of Potter's feelings for her.

Draco got dressed, taking his time. After all, it might be the last time he could take his time for quite a while now. Unlike everyone else at his level, he knew a war was coming. Hell- he was organising it.

When Draco arrived at his Ministry office, he found a worried Lambert Atkins waiting for him. Lambert was a usual missing persons hitwizard. Today though, he'd had rather a nasty surprise.

Lambert had been working the dawn shift, when he received a note flying down from the top office, that of the Earl himself. It simply said that his assistant, Jon Riley had gone missing, and all attempts to contact him had failed. Atkins started work immediately. The first step on any missing persons case was to check the person was actually missing, that meant checking St Mungo's and the individual's home. St Mungo's yielded nothing, Riley hadn't been there in years, but a quick check of Riley's home did. The putrefying body was one of the foulest things that Atkins had ever seen. It reminded him of some of the horror stories that the aurors liked to tell, stories about Voldemort,the Boss and his angels of retribution. Shaken, he had returned to the ministry where he waited for his boss to come in. With him he brought the letter that had been found with the body.

Draco picked it up, wondering what it said, and started to read.

_To whom it may concern,_

_A corruption has inhabited the centre of our Ministry. It is time that criminal was ousted. He was responsible for the recent Hogwarts' Petrification and I will not stop until he is gone. _

_Let this not be the first of many._

_The Archangel_

Draco stood there for a moment, feigning horror. It was time to take this one over to the auror department. After all there was a dangerous witch on the loose. He didn't even unlock his office before heading out. Not ten seconds later a blast blew open his door. His desk was a pile of matchsticks. Perhaps he now had another reason to go to the aurors- he didn't know who was behind this one.

Harry had also gotten into work early that day; he wanted to be around when everything went down the pan, so to speak. However, when Draco Malfoy was bundled into the duty hitwizard's office he was currently occupying, he was surprised to see how pale he looked.

Malfoy looked concerned and as soon as the door had shut, he started waving his wand around. First he checked for further bombs, then he set up several powerful anti-surveillance charms.

"Bloody buggering hell!" Draco exclaimed. "He must have had it planned for weeks. I really don't think we're safe from him anymore, Potter, it's time we cut out the crap and moved straight to stage four of the plan."

"What are you on about, Malfoy?"

"Someone just blew up my office, it was sheer luck that I wasn't inside it when it went up! I can't think of anyone else who might try it, can you?"

Harry admitted he couldn't, but nonetheless pointed out that it would be rash to accelerate their plans far beyond the point of no-return without first getting the department to ascertain who had done the blowing up. He had soon persuaded Draco of this, and they left the office, just in time to hear a rather surprising radio message, coming over the large wireless in the middle of the room.

_...and now we go over to the Minister for Magic, who is to make an important announcement, from just outside the ministry itself._

The voice changed into one that they all recognised.

_My fellow inhabitants of the magical world, I have come before you today in order to announce an unfortunate accident. Earlier today the world we know and love was regressed by nigh on a decade. Today, the Archangel returned. She first attacked one of my own advisers, and then proceeded to plant a bomb in the office of the head of the department of magical law enforcement. The head of the department was killed in this blast and in this time of doubt and uncertainty, I feel it is important that the evolving conflict is resolved as soon as possible. As such I am fusing the responsibilities of that post, so recently and tragically evacuated by its previous incumbent, with those for Minister of Magic. I believe this will help secure us the peace we so want, and the future we so deserve. _

Both Harry and Draco may have missed the meaning of Umbridge's speech at the beginning of her year at Hogwarts, but neither of them missed the meaning in this, so thinly was it veiled. They knew that if the Minister discovered Draco not to be dead, he would make sure that reality was corrected to match the official truth. There was only one thing they could do. They fled the Ministry and made their way to where Hermione was in her hideout.

"Oh it's you!" Hermione exclaimed, lowering her wand. She caught sight of Draco, "and you.. I thought you were dead, I heard over the radio..but you're alright, and that's what counts."

"Your affection as ever Granger, is unwarranted and unlooked for. I may be alive, but that doesn't matter much. Our plans have been blown out of the water, in case you hadn't noticed."

His years of power had returned much of the swagger he had lost over his years in service to two consecutive dark lords and he was positively sneering at Hermione as he concluded his statement.

He instantly remembered why he had abandoned it when a powerful cruciatus curse hit him in the back. It had been cast by Harry.

"Apologise to Hermione, Draco. Now! I assure you if you ever treat her that way again I will personally disembowel you."

Draco apologised, fearfully. No further retribution came, so he asked what the new plan was. Since he had in effect been disappeared from his position at the ministry, it was clear that the power balance in the trio had reverted back to Harry, whose eyes were darkening with the weight of responsibility and anger. Whose eyes were darkening into those of The Boss.

Now the Earl would know fear.


	15. Act III -Chapter 3

In the weeks following his bombing of the Ministry, life went downhill for the Earl. The Boss, who he had defeated to get into power in the first place, was back. People were beginning to grumble. The strains of a popularist revolution were starting to groan at the walls of the cult of personality he had built up around himself. He decided that it would be necessary to his power to release more of his theoretical musings. The most powerful and hated block in the wizarding world were the wandmakers, they charged extortionate prices for access to the fruits of their exclusive knowledge and most were in all honesty little better than thieves.

That day, he decided to release his wand-theory. A second academic revolution would buy him the time he needed to firm up and reassure his power base.

Or so he thought.

In reality, it did little except to enable everyone to arm themselves with the perfect wand. He had lost his main weapon, one he used so regularly, he didn't even think about it. Fear, for it was fear of his magical powers that had driven everybody to submit to him, even when they didn't believe his rhetoric. Now, though ever-present, it was dramatically reduced. The chief auror had barely been encouraged to publish the report saying that Draco Malfoy had been blown up by the Archangel.

Harry had treated the announcement of the new theory with glee. He had seen what the perfect wand could do –it had after all turned Hermione from a knowledgeable, but yet limited witch, into an all powerful death-machine. If he got one, then he could do what he liked to anyone. If he got one, and everyone else did, then it would all boil down to innate power and wit. He knew the team of himself and his Hermione could not fail there. The status quo ante would be restored. He might have to reveal himself as the Boss, but he would take the consequences of that when the time came.

For now, he was the leader of the revolution. He strode the world like a colossus. Nothing could compete with him. He now had his new wand. It was a powerful stick of death, made of Basilisk venom, contained within a carved boar's tusk. It was particularly adept at quickly and aggressively casting any spells, but particularly those designed to maim and cripple. He had first used it against a group of aurors who refused to come over to his side. Their suffering had been exquisite, nothing he had done before compared with it. They twisted and squirmed in agony as invisible knives cut their tendons, and magical fire roasted their flesh. The last one had died only after twenty minutes, a blackened and unrecognisable corpse. Although Harry was not wearing his mask, his followers had worked out that he had been the Boss before- no-one else was capable of being so vicious, or was so powerful. They knew he was a threat, but they also knew that the Earl was a bigger one, so they let him continue his course.

The rebellion reached its climax as everyone had always known that it would. One fight. It would without doubt be the greatest wizarding duel since Dumbledore and Grindelwald fought, or possibly even longer, maybe even since Merlin's final duel with Morgana. It was coming, and everyone knew it. When, however no-one knew. In the end it was precipitated by the capture of Hermione. Harry would do anything for her, and everyone bar Hermione knew it. The Earl summoned Harry to a duel, one on one, man to man, in exchange for Hermione's freedom. He willingly walked into the apparent trap.

Either the Earl was massively over-confident, or else a sombre man of his word, for when Harry arrived at the specified location, there was no-one there, save the Earl and Hermione.

"Why Harry?" she shrieked.

"I love you, Hermione." He said, "Now, Go!"

And that was when the greatest duel of all time started.

Each man bowed to the other, and Harry gave the traditional salute with his wand. The Earl replied in kind, raising his bejewelled and sculpted staff up. The formalities were over and the fighting soon started.

The Earl let Harry start, gesturing this with his hand. The fast reactions that Harry had were not ones to let an opportunity to get a quick kill go sailing past, without an attempt to grab it first.

He shot out a quick spell, an incendiary one. It met a vast, spherical shield, already in place around the taller man and splashed around it, like molten metal hitting a vast lump of rock. Harry attacked again and again, incendiary charms, bone-breaking hexes and shrinking jinxes. None made contact. The build up of magical potential in the area made the air glow warmly as the light of Harry's curses flickered across it. He tried the killing curse, which the Earl skilfully deflected onto the ground. The big man smiled, evilly, at Harry and began his counter-attack.

Spells came flying from that bejewelled battlestaff in such a way as no man had ever seen before. They came out in every colour, fanning out such as there was no way to duck, dodge and dive his way around them. Harry had no choice, he had to take a stand and trust to his defensive magic. He conjured a vast wall of wrath, which flickered and shimmered as the Earl's spells impacted against it. Again and again came these waves of ruin, designed to break down any opponent. Harry felt the strength of his shield waving and cast a reinforcement charm. For he was not just anybody. No! He was the Boss, the most powerful wizard who ever lived and he would surely defeat this twisted academic. Swift and deadly spells came at him, but he blocked these easily. This would not be some duel of old men, or the young and untrained. No, this would be a duel of men in their prime. Nothing could defeat him, nothing at all, certainly not this weak attempt at a wave of death. The pace of the duel quickened. Now it was time to put some pressure back upon his wily adversary, decided Harry. He allowed his shield to collapse just as the last of a wave's spells hit it and began a new offensive. Spell after spell he cast, starting some before the previous one had left the end of his wand. The Earl responded in kind. Each blocked and parried their opponent's spells as fast as each could cast them. It was truly a fight between giants of their time. Each fought and struggled, each had the power to utterly destroy a thousand suns in the wave of a wrist, and now they were fighting. Rogue spells, deflected away from the combatants fell randomly around them, setting grass and trees on fire. Neither noticed, so concentrated were they on the battle. Suddenly Harry noticed the flames rising about them. In a duel a wizard was well advised to watch his surroundings, at any moment they could change to provide a potential weapon. With a vast sweep of his wand, Harry condensed the fire into a vast ball, and sent it around the Earl. All the Earl's attacks instantly stopped, which was just as well, for Harry could do nothing but control this giant ball of flame. Then, the ball froze and shattered. The Earl reappeared, some of his clothes slightly charred, but no real damage done to the wizard underneath. The tempo then picked up again, back to what it had been before. The explosions from their ands punctuated a powerful beat, that was constantly accelerating. The beat of the duel. They fought. Harry defended and he attacked, the upper hand swinging between the two as the wizard who had it at that moment allowed his attack to falter slightly, from want of thought on which spell to cast next. The Earl noticed something. A branch. He blocked a disembowelling hex from Harry. The branch was right above where the other wizard was standing. He quickly launched four stunning curses in succession. None of them hit and then he blocked a cutting spell. If he could make that branch fall. He was distracted from the thought by a bit of quick wandwork from Harry. It was truly he most impressive spellwork he had ever seen. He raised his staff and sent a powerful dispersion field in Harry's direction. It fizzled out before it had gotten half way to him. Nothing could breach the defences of the other. Harry sent a particularly powerful eviscerating curse at the Earl, who skilfully deflected it into the branch. It hadn't worked. The duel continued. Harry felt the flood of adrenaline power through him. As the hormone flowed through his vbeins he felt his reactions quicken, his eyesight grow keener, more focused and his muscles become responsive to the slightest impulse. He cast multiple spells at the Earl, who seemed to be struggling to block them all. At last, he was weakening! Harry just needed to keep this up another five minutes and the day would be his. The branch fell. Harry was trapped and the duel was effectively at an end. All the Earl needed do now was cast a finishing curse, and Harry would be dead and gone.

"Ah, Mr Potter. I was wondering when we would meet again. You have been a most worthy opponent."Harry's wand was still in his hand, and he spotted he could finish the Earl but he couldn't get the movement required for a killing curse. A general explosion he could manage-but nothing else, his arm was trapped too firmly under his body for anything else. An explosion like that would kill him though, and he knew it. He cast the spell, and the warmth of death rolled over him and the Earl. The Earl was dead. That moment Hermione reappeared with the rest of the revolutionaries. They saw a dying Harry, trapped beneath his wooden nemesis. Hermione ran over to him.

"Come on Harry, don't die! You can't die! I won't lose you! I've lost everybody I've loved and I'm not having you go in that list too. I love you Harry! Hold on! You'll be okay!"

But he wasn't. Moments later Harry closed his eyes for the final time. His last words:

"I love you too, Hermione."

Standing in the crowd, Marietta Edgecombe looked on. She couldn't stand Hermione, and she knew she was the biggest threat to a stable peace. A quick spell. A flash of green. Hermione rolled over, dead. The final casualty of the revolution of the mind.

For that was the thing about revolutions, thought Draco. They came around. Everything was the same as before, but a whole load of people were dead, who otherwise wouldn't have been. The trick was not to come out on top afterwards, it was to survive.


End file.
